“Then let us look in the one place your family has kept locked for forty years,” I said.

I pointed toward the double doors at the end of the north wing.

“The private library.”

“The one room my grandfather’s original trust documents were stored in.”

Miranda stiffened, her posture turning rigid as stone.

“That room is private,” she said. “The keys were lost decades ago.”

“I don’t need a key,” I said, pulling a heavy brass ring from my apron pocket.

The keys clinked together, a sharp, metallic sound in the quiet room.

“I found them in the butler’s pantry, hidden behind the silver polish.”

“You thief,” Miranda whispered.

“I am taking back what is mine,” I said.

I turned and walked toward the heavy double doors of the private library.

Our footsteps echoed on the polished hardwood floor of the corridor.

The mansion felt cold, the heating system failing to fight off the autumn chill from the lake.

Julian followed me, his boots clicking against the floor.

Miranda hesitated, then hurried after us, her silk skirt rustling loudly.

We reached the double doors of the private library.